


The World Itself

by gabolange



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, F/M, Pregnant Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabolange/pseuds/gabolange
Summary: These hazy hours belong to her, but when she can, she prefers to spend them with Patrick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately before 6.03 with spoilers through 6.02. 
> 
> With thanks to pellucid for the read-through and suggestions. Any errors are my own.

***

Shelagh awakens to her husband’s hand on her belly, stroking lightly through her summer nightdress. 

It is early, the late spring sun just barely creeping over the windowsill into their bedroom. She likes this time of morning, before the phone starts ringing, before the children clamor for breakfast. It used to be a time for prayer and reflection, and sometimes when she wakes she keeps the habit, reciting the morning offices as Patrick sleeps. Sometimes, she uses the dawn to finish chores left for later or make breakfast, tasks that cost nothing but delight her family with their results.

These hazy hours belong to her, but when she can, she prefers to spend them with Patrick.

She turns to her side to face him, shifting closer as she does. Her knee finds its way between his legs and the hand that had been on her belly now rests on the small of her back. He draws small circles with his fingers there, and Shelagh shivers.

“Good morning,” she whispers, voice still ragged with sleep. 

He leans forward and kisses her in response. On a different morning, she might bite her lip and tell him he needs to clean his teeth before he can kiss her, setting off a practiced argument about bad breath that always ends with Patrick pressing her deeply into the mattress, kissing her hard. But today she wants his gentleness and the spark of wonder she sees when he touches her now. His delight in her pregnancy has not surprised her—she hardly had expectations for any of this—but the constancy of his joy leaves her breathless.

So now she threads her fingers through his hair and opens her mouth to him, content to come awake slowly under his touch. The hand at her back pulls her closer still, bringing her flush against him.

Patrick breaks the kiss, looking down at her intently, his dark eyes bright with an emotion she can’t quite name. She strokes her hand across his cheek, rough with stubble. “What?” she asks. 

He releases his grip on her and takes her hand, placing it on her abdomen. “You’re not going to be able to hide this much longer,” he says. 

She hasn’t been hiding it, exactly. She has shared every update with Sister Julienne, and Patrick tracks the changes of her body with his hands every chance he gets. The nurses have offered their quiet congratulations, but she has hesitated to share beyond their closest circle. She has treasured these moments where this news, this baby, is theirs alone to cherish. 

But it will soon make its presence known and Shelagh smiles broadly at that, surprising herself. “No,” she says, “probably not.” 

She ends the discussion before it starts, kissing him firmly. He smiles against her mouth, content to table any conversation for later. His hands, never idle, inch up her sides, stroking over the small bump of her belly to her breasts. He takes her breast in his hand, kneading it gently through her nightdress. “Oh,” she moans unexpectedly against his mouth.

He pulls away, looking down at her curiously. 

Shelagh shifts to her back and smiles up at him before threading her fingers through his on her breast. “It’s just sensitive,” she says. More than sensitive, since the barest touch of his hand against her has set her whole body aflame, charging her far ahead of where she expects to be.

“I see,” Patrick says, his physician’s practiced words colored with a lover’s interest. “How sensitive?”

Before she can begin to answer he gathers her nightdress in fistfuls of fabric, encouraging her to sit up just enough to pull it off. She lies against the pillows, the cotton of the sheets soft against her back.

“This is a new development worth exploring further, don’t you think?” Patrick says, more words than she can process as he settles beside her and begins to fondle her breasts. Of the many changes her body has undergone, she thinks he has enjoyed this the most; her breasts swell beneath his hands and his eyes darken with desire. He traces his fingers over one breast, then the other, light circles that cause her to shiver, gooseflesh rising on her arms even as she warms to his touch. 

It is almost a tease, the pads of his fingers against the skin of her breasts, not enough now that she knows there is more if only he would touch her more firmly. She lets him explore for a moment, but soon grabs for his hand, pressing it into her.

Patrick grins against her, kissing her cheek. “Greedy,” he admonishes with a smile, but gives her what she wants. 

She has long been comfortable with this, the giving and receiving between them in their bed. If she is greedy it is only because he is generous, and she loves that about him, about them together. She will return the favor sometime soon. But now—“Ohh,” Shelagh says, arching up into his touch as he squeezes and caresses. “That—yes, do that.”

She has always liked his attention to her breasts, the way they fit into his hands, but this is something altogether different. Patrick pinches her nipples between his fingers and she squirms on the bed, seeking more as the warmth between her legs grows. It is so much, too much too soon, and she can barely keep up. “Oh God,” Shelagh says.

He kisses the side of her neck and her shoulder before slipping further down her body. He draws an arm across her waist, holding her down, and brings his mouth to one breast and then the other. His stubble scratches her skin and she moans, finding enough control of her limbs to hold his head to her. He licks and sucks and bites and she writhes under him, hips bucking against his weight. 

“Oh God, oh God,” Shelagh hears herself say as Patrick takes a nipple between his teeth. It’s not possible to come just from this, she would have sworn yesterday, but the pleasure building is remarkable and familiar and soon the orgasm crashes over her.

When she recovers her senses, she finds her husband grinning down at her, perhaps a little smugly. She wrinkles her nose at him. “A little sensitive,” she concedes. 

He reaches out and tweaks her nipple with his fingers and she grabs for his hand. “I see that,” he says, pretending seriousness for a breath before breaking out in gentle laughter. She brings his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers and then his palm, calming them both with her caress. He curls his fingers around her cheek and she rests there for a moment, catching her breath.

But she wants more, wants him, has been startled lately with how much she wants him—another side effect of pregnancy she will never share outside these walls—and so she pulls at his clothes, more request than useful action. He tugs his pajama top over his head and shucks his trousers in a moment.

He leans over her, erection bobbing between them, and kisses her, happy and a little sloppy. She would be content to take him like this, begins to spread her legs for him, but he pulls back, considering. She knows she is a picture to him, skin flushed with arousal, legs open, knees bent, breasts swollen with pregnancy, and she is glad for it. She loves him completely, fell in love with him for his kindness and his humor, but loves him like this, muscles taut under his skin, deciding how he wants to have her.

Gentleman’s choice, she thinks, given the last few minutes.

He grabs her hand, tugging her into a seated position. “Up you go,” he says, settling himself on the edge of the bed, feet resting on the floor.

She scoots to sit beside him a moment, kissing his ear and his cheek. She reaches her hand to stroke his erection, and he is hard and ready. “Careful,” he says; he loves her hands on him, she knows, but that is not what he wants right now.

She finds her feet before straddling him on the bed, knees resting briefly on the covers before she sinks down onto him in an easy motion. He pulls her closer, his hands around her thighs, and he kisses her collarbone. 

“Any more surprises for me?” Patrick whispers, running his fingers up her spine. It startles her and she jerks against him, rolling her hips.

She smiles. “Maybe a few,” she says, but doesn’t mean it, and contradicts herself by kissing him softly, the way she has a thousand times before. 

And now she draws from him what she wanted before they started, that familiar, gentle touch of his hands on her skin as she rocks her hips against him in a steady rhythm. He likes this position, she knows, because she has to wrap her arms around him to stay upright, has to mold herself as close to him as she can. He helps her, helps himself, by holding her against him with a strong hand at her back. She can feel her belly between them, startles to think that in a few months, they won’t be able to do this in this way because of it.

It builds slowly this time as they gain momentum. She untangles a hand from around him and reaches between them to touch him as he pulls out of her, trailing her fingernails over the shaft of his cock before he thrusts back into her with a groan. “God, Shelagh,” he says, voice shaking as she repeats the movement.

“Mmm,” she says. “Good?”

He somehow has the wherewithal to lean back and quirk an eyebrow at her, a gesture that causes her to bark in laughter. Oh, how many ways can she love this man? She feels herself tighten around him, and he thrusts up hard, a movement that cannot break her humor even as she throws her head back in pleasure. 

“Good,” he whispers, kissing her neck. She feels the kiss from her pulse point to deep between her legs, and she cannot stop smiling, cannot stop moving against him for want of more. He drives into her more deeply, more quickly, and his rhythm falters as he climbs toward his release.

She is so close, so close, needs just—

With his free hand, Patrick squeezes her breast, running his thumb over the nipple. She tumbles over the edge with a gasp and holds onto him until he follows.

Patrick’s arms are strong around her as their breathing evens, and she can feel him softening inside her. He grins, a little self-satisfied, and she allows him another caress of her abdomen before pushing back, taking in his tousled hair and sparkling eyes. 

“Time to get up,” she says, finding it impossible not to smile at him. “We have a busy day.”

He laughs and kisses her and helps her to her feet. She walks to the wardrobe for her clothes.

***


End file.
